


flood the light through to midnight

by kogane (cybersquatt)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, References to Depression, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybersquatt/pseuds/kogane
Summary: Most nights, Keith has a hard time sleeping.[Title from EDEN's song,Interlude]





	flood the light through to midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rageisnotemo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageisnotemo/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Camdyn!! Sorry that this is (a week) late. (Don't trust Window Products.) Love you <3

Most nights, Keith had a hard time sleeping.

No matter how he’ll go to bed or how many sleeping pills he’ll take, he’s awake during the late hours listening to highways and the crickets. Keith stares up at the ceiling that hovers over him almost hauntingly feeling like ants are crawling up and down his body.

Tiredness can claw at his eyes all they want. They won’t rest long enough to satisfy.

  
  


It wasn't like this, once upon a time.

Keith barely remembers it, but he used to sleep peacefully. Used to walk down dark hallways comfortably; not mind the dark. The soft sounds of the night used to comfort him. The sound of the highway and train's horn nearby ringing. Rain taps at his window gently.

It changed -- his comforts. It did when Shiro, at the peak of his rebellious phase, told a much younger and imaginative Keith of myths. Myths of men with shadowy figures and limbs as hauntingly as those huge trees in horror films; how they stalk and capture innocent children in the dark.

(To clarify, Shiro had since apologized for his younger wrongdoings. Even with that, Keith still instinctively refuse to listen to any of his stories. [It’s a habit. Habits are to break, haven't you heard? They are.] Keith’s working up to it.)

Keith remembers the instant terror of the dark afterward -- hiding behind too dim of a night light and light switches turn upwards. The once soft sounds of the nighttime had turned into alarms and imagined nails dragging across the plain white walls. The sound of the rain had stayed the same, weirdly. Familiarity, he guessed. The last comfort as if falling drops of water made the bad things stay away.

Shiro had told him once, the morning chilling him to the bone and Keith was wrapped in a blanket sitting at the kitchen table, that their mother had found him out in the garage during the night. Keith isn't sure if he was telling the truth since he had no memory of that. (Shiro could’ve dreamed it, maybe. Keith doesn't know, he never remembers any of his own dreams.)

Keith had spent many nights in his parent's bed because he thought if anyone could drive the bad guys away, it was his parents. He was so little then, shortest of the class. Monsters wouldn't have thought of it as a challenge -- it would’ve been as easy as counting to ten.

He’s older, now, and faced things a lot harder than counting to ten or restless nights but still afraid of the dark. He’s older and he sleeps in someone else’s bed. Someone whose hair curls around his eyes because it’s been too long since the last cut.

Lance McClain keeps the bad things at bay, Keith is endlessly grateful.

Because if the sun is what keeps him warm during the day, Lance’s arm that wound around Keith like a coral have their own hidden sun. He’s a burning star, Keith can only hope that he doesn’t burn out like when a lit match meets water. 

Keith likes to think that the dark can’t touch him when Lance’s around. A night light that never dies out. But it still does. It grabs his ankles like a cheater in a race and holds on, the touch freezing. Lance makes it manageable like a sun appearing behind clouds; it’ll still be cold, but he helps him not freeze.

He distracts himself with Lance’s entirety; his brown skin, his words, his mind. He has beauty marks that dot up and down his body -- Lance likes to pinch and poke them till his skin is red while Keith kisses them feverishly. His words are soft-spoken, contrasting from the daytime and his voice is music. His touches are one of his new comforts; Lance loves the rain.

Keith doesn't know if he'll forever be scared of the dark -- of inky black shadows that like to play with his eyes like cats with strings. Shadows that form monsters, men with lengthy limbs, and nightmares. If he can distract himself away from all that with fingers tangled in hair that needs cutting.

Even if his arms are a barrier from the bad things his mind creates, his eyes refuse to close some nights.

  
  


Please don't take it in the wrong way.

Keith trusts Lance, for he distracts Keith from the dark voids of the corners of the room. His barrier is strong but Keith hasn't completely broken his dam; hasn't let all his monster go, let Lance see all his nightmares. Keith’s learning to, though. Lance has kept the bad things away so far, Keith will do the same.

Because Lance has his nightmares, his own monster hidden under the bed, eyes glowing. Lance stays up with Keith and sometimes, he talks with a voice that’s low and mocking to himself but sad to Keith’s ears. Keith doesn't know what Lance’s monsters take the form of; Keith still helps him whatever way he can either way. 

Lance only acknowledges these things at night; Keith understands. He doesn’t push him. 

The morning after, Lance smiles with a dull sword. Something fonder etched into his actions. Keith doesn’t know how to comfort like Lance can for him. Keith can only hope he’s good enough.

  
  


There are nights where Lance can’t be there. 

Those nights, a blanket over his head and curled up like a cat in a useless attempt to sleep. Sometimes it doesn’t work. No matter how tired he would be, how bad his headache is, nothing can beat the restlessness and coldness he feels. It weighs down the bed like bricks are stacked on it while his bones are hollow with painful cold air trapped in them. The moonlight and barely working night lights are his best friends.

(Sunrise is beautiful, Keith knows. Countless times he’s seen it.)

Bruises form obviously under his eyes, no one cares to point out. He’s always cold and stays in bed too long in the morning because the monster might grab his foot and drag him under if he leaves. There's no one there to encourage him out or offer to stay. In most of those times, he doesn't want to be with someone, to just be alone.

Keith’s mind runs on fumes till he passes out or till he has a better, good, night.

  
  


Needlessly to say, Keith has failed to mention the good nights.

The nights where shadows disappear, the bed is as soft as the sounds of crickets’ chirps outside. Keith still stays up past midnight because he thinks it’ll take a while and some more good nights for him to stop. His bones feel full and his mind is sleepy with closed eyes to match. The good nights are when his mind isn’t running on fumes anymore;  a little clearer, a little more smooth. There are no nails dragging against the white walls or a ceiling to stare at like it’ll open up and swallow him whole. 

Keith dreams those nights; he remembers those. They never made sense, Keith learns. He lets them be -- senseless.

(Keith won’t lie, a lot of those nights were with another boy sleeping next to him. His weight was not bricks but feathers; their ticklish touch coming in a form of snores against Keith neck or Lance’s fingertips brushing against his cheekbone and back.

Keith wonders a lot if he shouldn't rely on Lance this much. If what they have is unhealthy. He doesn't want it to be because what they have helped him. Keith doesn't know, he’s never had this before.

He knows that what they have is love, maybe. And that sometimes Keith can’t handle the amount. The fondness that explodes in his chest; it's a numb, pleasurable pain. That Lance is so filled with love that it makes him cry sometimes. Keith drowns in it -- it’s addicting.

He is overwhelmed by the scent of the sea he carries. It reminds him of the first and last time he saw it; the endlessness of it. He was only three years old then, unable to join it. A lit match couldn't stand a chance.

[Lance could. The sea could sweep Lance up in its tide and in its waves and it'll be like coming home for him. Keith is not three years old anymore.]

But as time goes by, the nighttime will get easier to handle. Lance will there, a constant thing in his life, endless. Monsters made from myths with tree-like limbs stands wavering, Keith looks them in the eyes and stands tall.

He wants to feel like this forever.)


End file.
